


Brothers in Arms

by EloraRiker (ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cardassian War, Cardassians, Gen, Star Trek Novel, The Never Ending Sacrifice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22427224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyTruthTellMeYours/pseuds/EloraRiker
Summary: This is a fanfic inspired by the novel Star Trek Deep Space Nine: The Never Ending Sacrifice, by Una McCormack. It a conversation between two young Cardassian officers (Rugal Pa'Dar - DS9 2X05, Cardassians - and Tret Khevet) stationed on an arctic world during the war. "Old men declare war. But it is youth who must fight and die. And it is youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow, and the triumphs that are the aftermath of war"
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Star Trek Modern Novelverse Fanfic





	Brothers in Arms

_**DISCLAIMER:** _ _The ideas and words are mine, the characters are not... But we do spend a lot of time together..._

* * *

**_Author's Note_ ** _: This fanfic was inspired by a novel,_ **_Star Trek Deep Space Nine: The Never Ending Sacrifice_ ** _, by Una McCormack. It's set during the events that take place in the novel, with two characters, only one of whom appeared on the TV show. If you don't want any spoilers of the book, stop reading here._

_If however, you are still with me, this is a scene that happened in Ogyas III, an arctic planet in which some members of the Cardassian military were posted during the Dominion War. The two characters of this story are_ **_Rugal Pa'Dar_ ** _and_ **_Tret Khevet_ ** _. Rugal appeared in the second season of DS9 (episode 5: Cardassian). He was a Cardassian boy being raised by Bajorans and when it turns out that his Cardassian father was still alive (Kotan Pa'Dar, a minister) Commander Sisko sends him back to Cardassia Prime. The other young man is Tret Khevet, the son of another eminent politician, a friend of Rugal. For a while they attended the same school._

_This is a story about war. I hope it's a good one._

* * *

_"Old men declare war. But it is youth who must fight and die. And it is youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow, and the triumphs that are the aftermath of war"_

**_Herbert Hoover_ **

* * *

**_Brothers in Arms_ **

"Why would our people build a research facility in such an arctic world anyway, Pa'Dar." Tret Khevet asked, poking the fire with a long stick.

"How would I know?" Rugal asked, pulling the blanket thrown over his shoulders closer to his body. "Between the two of us, you were always the specialist in the reasons behind the actions of the Cardassian people."

The memory of that day at the academy when Rugal started a heated discussion about the Occupation of Bajor in the middle of an exam made them smile. _List the five ways in which the advancement benefited Bajor_ , the test asked, and Rugal's answer had been to shout that the whole thing was ridiculous. He was still desperately hanging on to his adoptive Bajoran heritage then. Tret simply enjoyed the adulation of his colleagues, both impressed and envious on account of his rhetorical skill. When Rugal went to bed that night, his last thought was of Migdal and Etra and how they would have been proud of him defending Bajor in a room full of Cardassians. Ironically enough, if he had been a better student at the academy he might have been more successful in his defence. And then perhaps his parents - his real, Bajoran parents - would have been so proud of him that they would have forgotten their sadness that Rugal no longer wore his earring. When Tret went to bed that night he could barely remember the rhetorical sparring of the morning. It was just another exercise and the future was full of them. That he won hardly even mattered. He was accustomed to being the best. Besides, Tret was too tired from playing rikot with Corat that evening to be able to think about anything at all. They were so young then, so before all beginning, and it seemed like so long ago… Too long.

"They aren't people Pa'Dar. They are the military." Tret answered, and although the tone of his voice suggested a joke, Rugal knew his friend well enough to see that he wasn't really joking. "I never knew anything about them."

"That's an interesting thing for you to say, _Dalin_." Rugal stressed that last world, reminding Khevet of his rank in the Cardassian lines.

"Oh, stop. It's not like I'm going to be a Dalin forever, is it?"

Their eyes met, and Tret sustained that look. Even through the veil of smoke ascending from the fire, Rugal recognized the spark in his friend's eyes. Those were the eyes of a man who had something burning inside him. A man who could not keep quiet for much longer. A man who was about to talk too much. It was something treasured on Bajor, for only when people started having that fire in their eyes they started to fight back. It was the kind of thing he missed when Kotan first took him away. But on Cardassia, and certainly on the military, that was dangerous, and Rugal had been around long enough to know that the best thing he could do if he valued his friendship with Tret was to help him to keep quiet. He knew Tret wasn't talking about a promotion, but this was not the place to discuss such things.

So he changed the subject.

"You should warm up your chest, Khevet," Rugal said, something of his medical training kicking back as he watched Tret rubbing his arms under his sparse blanket. "Your arms will take care of themselves," he added.

It was their turn to post guard overnight, and the two young men sat across from one another, a small bonfire between them. There was a gatehouse, but the heat wasn't working, and Cardassian physiology simply wasn't made for that kind of arctic weather. So they lit a fire and brought the wispy blankets they had outside. It was not enough to keep them warm though, and Tret followed Rugal's advice, but he didn't allow his friend to change subjects."

"Oh, come on, Pa'Dar. Don't you ever think about what you'll do afterwards? When this is all over?" He asked, pointing at the snow-covered grounds ahead of them.

Rugal didn't answer. For the longest time after he'd been brought to Cardassia, he could only think of one thing he wanted: To return to Bajor. His desire to go back defined him for many years. Not anymore, though. That fire had died inside him, a little bit every day. But it hadn't been replaced by anything else. So he went from being consumed by an unattainable future to not thinking about the future at all. He lived in the present, whatever that present might be. At one time it had been being a nurse in the Torr sector, scorning the privileged education his father could have provided and now, now it was being a Glinn on Ogyas III.

In the absence of a response, Tret spoke again, awaking Rugal from his musings.

"I think I could be a teacher at the Academy," Khevet said, poking the fire again.

"A teacher?" Rugal couldn't refrain from laughing at the absurdity of that thought. Tret had been the best student in their year, his skill in rhetoric dazzled their classmates. He'd been groomed to be one of Cardassia's leaders in the future. Simply put, to be a plain, simple teacher was— beneath him.

"Yes," he continued. "I always enjoyed the academy. This way I could go back, teach rhetorical strategy, coach the rikot team, maybe mentor the debating club, like Tekeny Ghemor did once," he said, lost in thoughts for a second. "I would bring my students outside, make them follow me in a stroll around the academy's grounds, and teach them as we walked. I read some philosophy teachers used to do this in the past. I always wondered why none of our teachers ever took us outside. It would make things so much more interesting. Specially during the warm summer days."

"You could have a refrigerated office in the Civilian assembly halls, Khevet." Rugal pointed out. "It is the career you were expected to follow —" he said, and stopped, mid-sentence, startled by how much he sounded like Kotan saying that.

"It was, but I don't think I can do that anymore," Khevet said, and his words were heavily honest.

Rugal could certainly understand that. Cardassia was a troubled world, a world that had exhausted it's own resources long ago, and even after this war was over there would be a lot of work to do. They had reached the technological level required to exploit other worlds before reaching the wisdom not to do so. And as a result, they had a long way to go. Whoever led Cardassia after this war would have to deal with that. They would have to deal with the Central Command and the Obsidian Order, and the poverty and famish they left behind. There would be difficult decisions to make and Tret didn't look like a man who had many difficult decisions left in him.

"It's funny, isn't it, Rugal," he said, and Rugal listen even more carefully, for it had been a while since his friend hadn't called him Pa'Dar. "When this war started, I thought we had to come and fight. For Cardassia. That was why we had such a strict regime of physical education at the academy, right? So we would be ready. And I was, I thought I was ready. I saw the Guls in the public screens, urging us to pick up arms, assuring us that we would be heroes, and I was eager to join the front. I was even angry at my father when he used his influence to make sure I would be as far away from the front as possible. I wanted a taste of battle. It would be a story to tell my sons." A sad smile appeared on his face. "If I ever have sons I will never tell them about any of this."

Rugal listened very quietly. He didn't have it in him to stop Tret now.

"And when Colat came to my room, I laughed at him. I laughed at the fact that he was having doubts, mocked him for being afraid. And then I assured him that this was what we had to do. For Cardassia. And everything would turn out fine." Tret said, and there was a lot of pain in his words. Rugal hadn't heard him talk about his young brother in a long time. "It was what our teachers and our parents said we should do. I thought we had to fight." His voice was growing weaker. "And now Colat's dead, and I just want to go home." Tret said, looking down and placing his right hand over his eyes.

Rugal didn't know what to say, so he was quiet for a while. It was Tret who broke the silence a few minutes later.

"Did you know Kovat at the academy?" Tret asked.

"I don't think so."

"No, it was after you left. They called him Venerable Kovat. He was a public Conservator. One of the best though there were rumours he had lost his touch at the end of his career. But he came to the academy to talk to us." He picked up a small branch and threw in the fire, to feed the flames. "He told us we would be doing Cardassia a great service by serving the central Command. Cardassia needed young fighters, like us. Champions. He told us it would be glorious." Tret said, remembering. "He never said anything about starving, or freezing to death." Tret pointed out. "There's nothing glorious about this war, Pa'Dar."

"Public conservator, huh?" Rugal started, in an effort to cheer Tret up. "You realize you listened to the advice of a man who practised losing for a living?" He said, and after a few seconds, the two of them laughed because Rugal had a point. He threw a small snowball at Tret and his friend ducked to avoid the hit.

"You're right, Rugal." Tret conceded.

"So you will become a teacher? Tell me, was venerable Kovat the one who inspired this career path?" He was teasing Tret now.

"I will be a teacher." Khevet said, a sad smile on his lips. "And if there should be another war in the future, I will make sure to tell my students what it's really like out here."

What it's really like, Rugal thought. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't glorious at all. It was a lot of boys, looking a lot older than their years, who were cold and starving and hurt, and didn't really know why they were out here anymore. Out here everything seemed… difficult. There were many secret tears and unspoken words. There were a lot of senseless deaths. Accidents, mines, ambushes and shots, shots fired from the guns of boys killing each other. For Cardassia, of course, or so they kept telling themselves. For Cardassia.

* * *

**_Author's note:_ ** _As soon as I read the back cover of The Never Ending Sacrifice, by Una McCormack I knew I had to read that book. It was just my kind of Star Trek story, a character-driven story that picks up a plot that for one reason or another was dropped or forgotten in the series. It's a great book... It made me want to get Cardassian ships for my Attack Wing game. It made me think about Cardassians, try and understand their society and most of all... It inspired me to put pen to paper... That's the best I can say about it... It still upsets me that I had a chance to talk to the author at DSTIII but I missed it, because back then, I simply hadn't read any of her work... But that's a story for another day..._

_I can only hope it's a good fic... Reviews are very welcome._

_LLAP_


End file.
